


Seams.

by his tongue and liver (doubleinfinity)



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Attempted Violence, Delusions, M/M, Mount massive, Object possession, Other, Past Rape/Non-con, Sewing, mannequin love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 14:16:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7621636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doubleinfinity/pseuds/his%20tongue%20and%20liver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Groom is busied in his workshop, creating dresses for his bride.  </p>
<p>As the Walrider tries to adjust to Mile's mind, he comes to amuse himself at Eddie's expense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seams.

Walrider hangs close to the ceiling beams, gazing down at the workshop below. He knows the floorplan of this building, as he’s intimately familiar with the map of the entire asylum. He remembers exploring it for the first time many years ago, all that decade spent loitering and wandering because there was nowhere else to go. But he feels different now, almost _curious_ , as if gifted with a new pair of eyes. Mile’s cognition hugs him in certain ways, informing what are now seen as perceptual truths that differ from Billy’s. Walrider doesn’t feel, but he’s often tricked into thinking he can when Miles’ force (rotting in some hallway) keeps him tethered to Earth.

He hovers out of sight, intangible body unlikely to be noticed by the male below, who gives a hiss under his tongue when he pricks himself on a needle. Walrider knows him as well, but he can’t remember the name. Give and take; some of Miles is stubborn and thrusts its presence upon the Walrider even if consciousness is meant to have dissipated from him long ago. The man’s brain still needs to be broken in.

Even as he makes a graceful descent to the ground, the male continues to be absorbed in his sewing, pausing only to pull on a pair of gloves that protect his palm from further stabbings. This dress is barely different from the others that precede it, displayed around the room on cloth and wooden mannequins, or corpses which do not stay upright, some even thrown over the tops of doors to keep from wrinkling. The Walrider swoops into the torso of a figure lucky enough to have cotton arms, making himself solid, and prettily dressed at that.

He rolls his stiff arms and turns his wooden base into mock-legs, creeping up on the Groom (ah, yes, Eddie!) at work.

Walrider leans over the man, using these fine new fingers to snatch up the delicately frayed edge of the fabric’s hem. “This would look lovely on me,” he swoons.

Eddie turns sharply, yanking the unfinished garment away. “Darling, please,” he hisses, “Sit still, I’m working.” When the Walrider yields, Eddie makes a sigh akin to a berating thank-you, returning to his task. “Honestly, to have me doing all the woman’s work. You know I don’t mind doting on you, but it does make me look positively wimpish when we’re out.”

With his stitched wrist, Walrider rubs the back of his neck, which ends in a flattened stump. “Please let me try it on,” he entreats, enjoying himself and the veins of anger that travel along Eddie’s jaw. “I know it isn’t finished but it’s such torture to restrain myself.”

The Groom lets his needle and thread fall out of his hands, gripping the dress in his fists. He turns, eyes narrowed. “You relentless, ghastly creature, wherever is your head?”

Walrider laughs apologetically as if he’s misplaced it. “Like you always said. All beauty, no brains.”

“And much beauty at that,” Eddie agrees, “Let’s get that old piece off you, your skin tone is far too fair.” He helps Walrider unzip it, politely shielding his eyes with his hand when the mannequin is bare. “This one, my dear.” He passes off his new dress to the Walrider, who bullshits his way into it with a combination of his own motor smoothness and Miles’ tugging confusion.

“You can look now.”

Eddie faces his work, stroking his chin in thought. His face is impossible to read, but he hums approvingly. “Tell me, darling, how quickly would you kill me if I were to tell you what I wish to do with you right now?”

The Walrider watches him closely. “Slowly.”

“You’ve been… patient, with me.” Eddie smiles bashfully to himself. “So much prepping, not enough doing. I like to be hesitant, you see, I know how painful love can be.” The Groom is a blur when he whips around to grab the needle, then jerks back and thrusts it into the mannequin’s side with a grunt of effort.

Walrider notices the object, then notices the way that Eddie can’t help but visibly react to the fact that he is not shrieking or crippling. “Impulsive,” he comments, ripping the tiny thing from his form and tossing it to the floor.

Eddie seems angry. “What, have you done this before?” he demands, tearing a knife from his belt and raising it high. “Dare to tell me that it’s something you enjoy?” The chair is kicked back when he rises from it abruptly.

He’s about to send his fist down when Walrider grips him by the collar and tosses him across the room, flinging Eddie into a collapse of his other dolls. “Why don’t you tell me how I’m meant to respond to your advances, huh?” he goads, coming to step over the beaten man. “How did _you_ , Eddie? What’s it like to be a penetrated man? That certainly isn’t the man’s work.”

Growling, the Groom slashes at Walrider’s ankles, spilling clouds of stuffing all over the floor.

“Here you are,” he sneers, bending down and yanking Eddie’s knife out of his hands. He makes as if examining it, neck swiveling. “I’ve seen you. Your delusions only half-convince me, now that I’ve figured you out. You would make victims of us all if you could. You try to correct your own molestation by inflicting it onto others, perfecting it.” Eddie follows the mannequin with his eyes, disgusted but betrayed by wideness. “No, you didn’t know it was rape back then. It was an extension of love to you, wasn’t it? A painful extension that you try to fix over, and over, meaning to convince yourself it will end in love but learning instead that it was indeed abuse all this time.”

With palms pressed to the floor, Eddie pushes himself to his feet but cannot move to attack. “Please, I don’t want to fight,” he reasons, “Can we forget this all and just… take a break?”

Walrider gives the knife back, sharp white flag.

“I’m probably the only one who can live through this assault that you nickname love.” The mannequin’s shoulders shrug before Walrider leaves the object to find something else to play with. “That’s why you don’t want me,” comes his voice from above.

-

Eddie holds the mannequin close, arms wrapped around its shapely middle, head lowered on its soft shoulder. She does not move, nor speak back to him.

He guesses she must have not made it after all.


End file.
